A Simple Game

His thoughts were tailored by

The absence of himself

Her words sincere but from

The mind of someone else

Each clicked like a chess clock in the park

Played by strangers in the nude

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

Her thoughts were tangled by

The silence in the room

His words unclear because

They sounded from a tomb

Each fit like a shadow in the dark

Exchanging others clothes

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth—

I’m not a gambling man but I’ve played a hand or two

I’m not a fable or myth but I’ve read what sounded good

A tired man sits idle in the park asking questions with his eyes

I’m not that man in the park but what separates the two?—

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth

The Road Between

Sometimes all there is to do is drive

and drive, and drive, and drive until

you forget to where you’re going,

you forget from where you came,

and you remember there’s no difference

except the road which lies between.

And when you don’t got the wheels

or means or place to stay

you walk, and walk, and walk until

it all makes sense enough to go away.

And you remember not to worry so much

as in all walks of eternity

you’re a part of this one, and the heartache

pain and blame is all just slapstick.

It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men

who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.

So the next time I, see-you-me,

I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!

Travelers through time and time forgot,

our elephant minds remember.

(miss)Understanding

At some point you just let go,

and that need to be understood

just drifts by the wayside.

Like a dog is a dog, a cat is a cat—

with or without the mustard.

Weird

Man. Life can get pretty weird,

and if that means something

supernatural or uncanny, then

I’ll take it! Anything other than

Ugly normal, is fine by me…

Communion in the Park

Men in the park

grip brown paper bags

certain as Catholic nuns

grasp their faith,

both counting one

by one, until neither

makes any difference

in the course of eternity.

Two paths, one park bench—

Angelic in their own rite.

to lose and to gain

We lose—only—what we must

allow ourselves to lose,

regardless of the pain

and suffering we choose, to lose

and to gain—

to have what it takes,

to further ourselves

to a better tomorrow.

Boba Raton, Joe.

I play my part as she sings me to sleep

Taylor calls for me from those stairs in Italy

I’m walking by a pay phone on the beach

Reminders from the East and a girl named Cicily

Talk me into circles out of reach

Send letters won’t you son to remind us what you’ve done

Don’t be a stranger call us once a week?

I buried what was left of my heartache in a trench

On that lonesome stretch of sand I was released

Now Bret he reads the lines in the background of my mind

There’s no one in this room to hear me sing

When journaling in thought feels like a raven’s claw

It’s Taylor who sits calmly next to me

The grass rests underneath her cheekbone by the sea

While chemicals channel flowing dreams

It’s 8am in August while I pour the gin and tonic

Listening to the ocean’s cresting wave

The cobblestone in Rome for which once walked me home

Now Cicily I hear her gently speak

There’s no such thing as time, if you believe that then that’s fine

But darling I’ve got no tears left to weep

I did my best to please the priest listening to me

Still Lucas rest assured me of my grief

I didn’t have to sail to France to find a girl to dance

I just went out every night for one last drink

So now as Taylor calls to me from those stairs in Italy

I pick her up once more from memory

I play my part as she sings me to sleep

I pick her up once more from memory

I play my part as she sings me to sleep

When Vonnegut takes shots at war

When Vonnegut takes shots at war

he doesn’t do with rifle or

fight with claims to settle scores

though prisoner he’d been before.

When Vonnegut takes shots at war

his words like steel are sharp and coarse

no fluff or zeal just fond remorse

for those who buried their loved and more.

When Vonnegut takes shots at war

his style’s frank no either or

like shrapnel strikes straight to the core

if death must come than make it pure.

When Vonnegut takes shots at war

his battle’s fought with valor worn

like Stars and Stripes and bones ashore

still “so it goes” forevermore.

two drifters anew

Their love before friends

as it always begins

then the world spun round

again and again.

Friends for the last

few phases of moon

the universe beckons

neither one to choose.

Spoken rather wisely

alone though in tune

while the world spun again

with nothing to lose.

Eyes look to the West

in Africa too

Eyes look to the East

this Hollywood noon.

There’s nothing to pardon

and no more to do

angelic they parted —

two drifters anew.